Four days ago, Saturday, September 2nd, I moved the last of my belongings out of my apartment in LA and handed over the keys.
I no longer have a place of my own. Everything I own is either at my partner’s place or in my suitcase. We are on our way east, to visit our hometowns. We grew up 30 minutes apart, and recently found out we were born in the same hospital. We met last summer in LA, around the same time I realized I no longer wanted to live there.
I’ve been in the middle of this transition for a while. Last summer, I started planning a road trip through Mexico in search of the next chapter. I left on December 4th. On February 3rd, I reached Puerto Escondido in Oaxaca. I only stayed for a week, but I knew I had to come back.
When I returned to LA at the end of February - after three months of solo travel that felt like a year, seeing more places than I could wrap my head around, getting so sick I could barely drive, spending days shitting soup from random airbnbs (and once in my pants) along the 44-hour route home - I thought it would feel good to stay put, somewhere familiar.
It did not. After about 48 hours of access to hot water and normal bowel movements, it was clear that those things were less important than what I found across the border.
My partner tried to cheer me up and show me the best of LA, while every bone in my body cried for Mexico. This went on for 4 months until I could get back to Oaxaca in July. I needed to see what more than a week there would feel like.
After emerging from another, much shorter period of extreme sickness upon arrival (here’s my post about that), life started feeling really good. I was making friends, becoming part of the community and finding more creativity and purpose. It felt like home.
I remember the first time I got in the ocean at what would become my favorite beach. The sun was setting. The warm, teal water merged with purple, pink and blue sky. As I bobbed in the waves, I thought, “Okay. I can leave my apartment in LA.”
Less than 2 months later, here I am. I did it. I am sitting by the indoor pool at a Marriott in Provo, Utah, finally writing that travel blog all my friends wanted from that first trip to Mexico. Better late and marginally related than never…
It’s a unique, untethered moment. I am between the life I had in LA and whatever is next. I am an entirely different person. What better time to revisit the past, see my family, attend my 15-year high school reunion, and visit New York City for the first time since fleeing the misery that led me to start over and move to LA?
Another rebirth? Here I come.